


The Flower is Blooming

by EverTurningVinyl



Category: The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, plot divergence, where basil meets a nice french boy and doesn't get murdered because my boy deserved better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 10:58:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18445163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverTurningVinyl/pseuds/EverTurningVinyl
Summary: Alternate plot where Basil doesn't bother waiting for Dorian to come home to talk to him (andgetstabbed) and instead goes to the train, and to France. Having met a French man who appreciates Basil for himself, life in a new house, in a rural French village is going quite alright..Basil deserved to be happy, I think we can all agree.





	The Flower is Blooming

It was birdsong that had awakened him. At five in the morning it must be said, but Basil couldn't find it in his heart to hate the free little birds that sang of the freedom in their hearts, because for the first time, he could feel the same thing, brewing in his chest. Of love, of peace and the content of living life as one wished to, away from the nosy crowded British Island, lord curse it forever more. 

He stretched slightly in his bed, and found his movements restricted soon after, by a muttering pair of arms that begged Basil to wake up at a reasonable time blessed by the angels above, in sleepy french. Basil smiled softly to himself, and closed his eyes, thinking it hardly a sacrifice to stay in bed.

*                   *                      *                           *                       *                       *                      *                          *

When he next awoke, the sunlight was trying to peel away the cobwebs of the night before, and the bed was empty.

He turned over and stretched, wondering of the day ahead of him. Should he attempt productivity, and draw something in the rare case he made a dramatic re entry into civilization and the art world? Or should he follow the notes of 'the entertainer' coming into his room ever faintly, and bake brioche and explore the outdoors foliage throughout the day?

He lifted himself carefully form the bed, trying to gauge if the persistent knot in his neck had lessened over the course of the night. To his delight it seemed it had, and as he slipped into the nearest pair of shoes to enter into the rest of the world outside his bedroom, he heard the tune change. A charming piece, 'Little yellow bird' if he remembered correctly.

He pushed the door open gently to see if he could manage to not disturb Lisandro amidst his playing. He saw his face, eyes gently closed, playing from memory the lilting tune. As the piece came to a close, Lisandro opened his eyes once more, smiling when he saw Basil standing by the doorway.

"Why, I simply can't think of anything I could have done to earn the honor of being awoken by such lovely music Lisandro, it's lovely, truly." He said, sitting between a window and the piano.

"I'm terribly sorry if I woke you Basil, I was just ever so excited to try out the new pieces you imported from America and England."

"I completely understand the motive Lisandro dear, and it was quite lovely. Why at risk of sounding like a fool, near as lovely as you."

"Basil, I'm too old to be blushing, do stop it"

"Too old? Why you're only two years older than me, how awfully mean to yourself you are"

"Perhaps you simply think too much of me"

"I'm sure I could never"

"Oh hush, let us move on to more pressing matters perhaps?"

"Indeed, like which glen we should have a picnic while reciting Sappho or Homer in?"

"Why, you read my mind, which glen do you feel like to-day?" 

Basil mockingly pondered this a moment, looking at towards the sprawling land with a distant village in sight.

"Would the villagers drive us out with pitchforks if we attempted to sit in a café instead?"

"You are very judgmental of the villagers Basil, the french as I'm sure you may have already found to some extent, are much more open minded than the stuffy English." 

"I believe the issue with the english is not necessarily a lack of open minded people, rather the fact that those who are open minded are absolutely insufferable" He said thinking of a particular lord H.W. who's name he had refused to say aloud since he arrive in France for fear of the mere speaking aloud of the name would corrupt the very soil he stood on.

"You must expand on that theory Basil, but firstly, should we bring Camembert or Gouda?"

"Oh, Gouda, certainly."

"Commendable choice" He said, pressing a kiss to Basil's cheek, before turning to finish off the basket's elements.

Basil gazed at the grass outside the window that was still softened by the dew that had not yet left it. 

Somewhere, undiscovered in his soul, he felt as though he had narrowly missed a tragedy to be able to be this happy.

 

 


End file.
